Chapter 4

The next day, Matthew sat at his desk, the warm afternoon sunlight filtering through the window. Alex was in class, so it was just him and his laptop. He decided to fire up GarageBand once again.

The project was nothing but empty tracks, a blank canvas he usually filled with pop-country riffs—twangy chords and melodies with lyrics about dirt roads and wide-open skies. But today, his fingers rested on the laptop keys, the virtual piano keyboard open on the screen. He half-heartedly tried out a few notes, then stopped, staring out the window.

He realized he was noticing things he had no reason to notice: how Alex’s laugh lit up his whole face, the delicate curve of his fingers poised over a laptop keyboard, the look in Alex’s eyes whenever their gazes held for a beat too long. Growing up on the farm, he’d learned a long time ago to put things like this out of his mind, like sinking rocks into the soft earth after a rain.

Why was it so hard to do now?

He thought about their conversation last night and that stupid lie he’d told about a girlfriend back in Keosauqua. He could still hear his own voice, tight and forced: Her name’s Sarah. We went to high school together.

He felt guilty now for spinning that ridiculous tale. The whole thing was so cringe. Did Alex even buy it? He leaned back in his chair, raked a hand through his hair, and stared at the ceiling with a sigh.

Something about Alex asking about a girlfriend had knocked him off balance, leaving him grasping for a plausible story. He’d spent eighteen years on the farm, two more in junior college, and never once had anyone gotten close enough to see the cracks. Now, one innocent question had sent him scrambling.

So what if he didn’t have a girlfriend? Why should he care what Alex thought about that?

Hmm . . .

For that matter, why should he care what Alex thought of him at all?

But the fact was undeniable.

He clearly did care.

He knew he shouldn’t feel this way—not about a guy, and certainly not about his vaguely handsome roommate. But Alex was right here and real—far too real to ignore. He seemed so different from anyone Matthew had known.

He was all city streets and Korean roots, a mix of worlds Matthew had only glimpsed in passing. Matthew’s world was the farm—pickup trucks, cattle, and church potlucks.

And yet, here he was, daydreaming on a lazy afternoon, wondering what it was about Alex that he couldn’t put out of his mind.

Was this what a crush felt like?

Surely not. That’s crazy talk.

His hands drifted back to the keyboard, dialing up a synth patch—bright, pulsating, a far cry from his usual acoustic stuff. A restless melody bubbled up as he noodled around. Perhaps all of Alex’s K-pop and techno music was seeping into his subconscious.

Then, unbidden, words came to him all at once:

“You don’t know what you do to me.

When I look into your eyes, my secrets can’t be concealed.

When you’re standing so close to me,

It feels like we’re moving in zero gravity.”

He froze, the synth line looping through the headphones. It was a bolt from the blue—the lines spilling out almost faster than he could catch them. He opened a text box on the screen and began frantically typing out the words before they evaporated from his mind.

*

By late afternoon, he had the bones of a song—two verses, a chorus, and a bridge. The whole thing was almost confessional, yet it felt right somehow, like a key fitting a lock in his mind.

Matthew sat in bewildered silence. Where in the world had this come from?

The doorknob rattled suddenly, breaking the stillness. His breath caught, and he slammed the laptop shut just as Alex stepped in, backpack slung over one shoulder, his face flushed from the trek across campus.

“Hey,” Alex said, plopping down on his bed. “What’re you up to?”

Matthew forced a shrug as he leaned back in his chair. “Nothing much. Just messing around. How was class?”

“Ugh. Brutal,” Alex groaned, tossing his backpack aside and kicking off his hiking boots. “Math’s gonna kill me.”

He paused, studying Matthew. “You okay? You look . . . I dunno, weird.”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He couldn’t meet Alex’s eyes, though—those bright, curious eyes that seemed to see too much. “Gotta run downstairs, throw some stuff in the washer.”

He jumped up from his desk chair, grabbed his laundry basket, and bolted from the room.

Alex sat blinking at the doorway.

“Well, that was strange,” he muttered to himself.

He looked back at the laptop on Matthew’s desk. What had Matthew been doing? He’d seen him jumpy before, but this felt different—sort of personal.

A faint smile creased his lips.

Nah, couldn’t be—could it?

After all, they were both twenty-year-old college guys, and hormones didn’t care about dorm walls. The thought of Matthew hunched over some NSFW site on his laptop sent a jolt through him. Heat rose to his face, and he shook his head.

“This is none of your business, Kim,” he chided himself, reaching down to peel off his socks.

Curiosity finally got the best of him, though. He tossed his socks aside, slid off the bed, and tiptoed to the desk. Half-expecting to see a paused video, he gently opened the laptop.

Instead, GarageBand appeared on the screen—tracks filled with colored blocks of different sizes. A text box was open in the foreground.

He knew he shouldn’t be prying like this, but as he reached to close it again, his eyes caught a few lines:

When we’re together

It feels like I’m floating through the sky

I’m as light as a feather

I can’t tell you why.

Had Matthew written that? Who was it about?

His girlfriend back in Keosauqua maybe?

Somehow, that didn’t quite ring true. The words conveyed a depth of feeling that Matthew hadn’t shown when he mentioned “Sarah” last night. But who else could they be about?

He was startled out of his daze by the sound of a key jiggling in the door lock.

Shit!

He slammed the laptop shut and dove back onto his bed just as Matthew stepped in, laundry basket under one arm.

“Washer’s running,” he announced, setting the basket down, his voice steadier now.

“Mm-hmm,” Alex muttered—lying prone, propped on his elbows, scrolling casually on his phone like nothing had happened—trying to will his breathing to return to normal.